


like a storm against your windowpane

by faintlight



Series: look me in the eyes [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Beholding Kink (The Magnus Archives), Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Established Relationship, F/F, Phone Sex, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood, nonbinary lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faintlight/pseuds/faintlight
Summary: how to handle a relationship when your partner is constantly getting kidnapped because of their growing eldritch powersor, if jon and martin had been dating in season 3[spoilers until MAG111]
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: look me in the eyes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069037
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	like a storm against your windowpane

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [watching you without me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817658) by [kitseybarbours](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitseybarbours/pseuds/kitseybarbours). 



> brief explanation of the gender in this: jon is a transmisogyny affected nb lesbian (they/them) and martin is a transmisogyny exempt nb lesbian (he/they), i really love exploring the varied lesbian experience with gender + i could talk at length about how i view their genders in this specific series
> 
> for context, Martin has recently gone on testosterone (right after the end of the last fic) because i’m trans and i said so
> 
> much love to @MazieMakes for betaing this 😙
> 
> title is, of course, from crj's look me in the eyes

From the outside, Martin and Jon’s relationship hadn’t changed much. Martin still left cups of tea on Jon’s desk, which still went untouched, for the most part, but not unappreciated. They spent the same amount of time around each other in the office. Martin could let their fingers brush when he handed Jon a statement file, Jon would rest their arm on Martin’s desk when they gave him a new case to look into, but nothing that anyone would notice. Maybe Jon was a little kinder to Martin, but that could be chalked up to tensions in the archives drawing them together. Not that anyone had enough spare time to pay attention to their relationship, what with the ever-approaching Unknowing (except Elias, who always seemed to show up in Jon’s office when Martin was there and they’d found a moment alone). 

Outside the walls of the Institute, though, the two of them tumbled headfirst into something almost resembling a normal relationship. Martin went home more than Jon did, but when Jon did agree to sleep in a real bed and not just pass out at their desk, they went together. They would ride back to one of their apartments (usually Martin’s, as it tended to be cleaner), Martin would cook something that Jon would half eat, and they would fall into bed together. Mornings were slow, Jon waking up hours too early and wondering what Martin dreamed about before slipping away to head into the Institute. Martin would wake up to a messily-written note on the counter and their bag already packed by the door. It was strange, and lovely, and hard, like Jon had warned. Despite the stress on both of them, they were happier than they’d been in months. 

It was a little more difficult when Jon started following Gertrude’s trail across the globe. They couldn’t always tell Martin where they were going, why they were going there, or what they hoped to find. It didn’t help that Jon had a long track record of being kidnapped or threatened by more powerful beings, and Martin was the worrying sort. Jon tried, in their own way, to keep in contact, always responding to Martin’s texts (usually in a vaguely concerning manner, but it was better than nothing) and calling him whenever they had a breakthrough. Martin called when he got off work, and Jon always answered, even if only for a few minutes. 

One of these nights, Martin had just arrived at their apartment after a long day of reading page after page about circuses while simultaneously worrying about how Jon was faring in America. As soon as he’d locked the door, his phone buzzed in his pocket. They knew it was Jon calling by the pattern of the vibration, and picked up immediately. 

“How’s America?” he asked, by way of greeting. 

“Far too big,” Jon responded, their voice soft and raspy from exhaustion. “How’s the Institute?”

“Another day, another clown book.” Martin said, rewarded with a short exhale of laughter from Jon. “Are you getting enough- _any_ \- rest?” He pulled his shoes off and put away his coat.

“No,” Jon said, without hesitation. “Ever since I got here, I’ve felt...watched. I know I’m probably just being paranoid, but-”

“But you were kidnapped by the Stranger a month ago. I really don’t think that’s unreasonable.” Martin sighed as he sat down on his bed. He knew the job description basically came with threats to your life, but that didn’t mean Jon was capable of handling that, at least in a way that didn’t leave Martin constantly anxious. 

“Yeah.” They paused. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you,” Martin replied immediately. ‘What you’re doing is important, but I can’t help wanting you here. A bit selfish of me.” 

“I wish I were with you too,” Jon said, their voice a little softer now. “I miss having your arms around me. Or you in my arms. I just miss...having you around.” 

At that, Martin laid down on the bed and curled into himself. If he laid his phone on the other pillow and let his eyes close enough, it almost felt like Jon was there with him. Almost. 

“I miss that too. I miss feeling you with me.” _And knowing you’re safe_ , they meant to append, but Jon cut in, “What would you do if I was there with you?”

Martin almost laughed in surprise. He hadn’t expected Jon to take this kind of initiative, not from across the world, but here they were. “I’d kiss you, of course,” he said, letting his thoughts stray loudly to the last time Jon had been with him in this bed, his head between their thighs. 

“ _Martin_ ,” Jon whispered, their voice at once quiet and commanding, reprimanding and embarrassed. 

“You asked,” Martin whispered back, a laugh coming out breathlessly. 

“Well,” Jon said, struggling a little to steady their voice, “touch yourself, then, since I can’t.”

Martin shivered a little, shifting to unbuckle his belt and slide his pants off. “I am,” he said, hand sliding under the waist of his underwear. The sudden friction made him breathe in sharply. “Are-are you?”

Jon made a low noise from the other side of the phone. “Yes,” they whispered. “After seeing those memories from you, I- I couldn’t help it.” 

“Tell me what to do,” Martin gasped, hand still moving in his underwear. He paused to pull his briefs over his hips, lying back on the bed to offer Jon a better view. At least, he thought it did. Martin had never bothered to ask exactly how beholding worked. He returned his hand to circle his clit, breath coming heavier. 

“I want you to keep touching yourself. Just like that.” The strain in Jon’s voice was clear, and Martin wondered if they really could see him like this, panting on his back, clothes hastily pushed aside in anticipation of their next words. The thought of Jon touching themself in response, hand moving faster as the image of Martin flooded their mind, sent a rush of electricity through Martin. 

“Imagine that I’m touching you. Where do you want me?” Jon whispered, their voice on the edge of static. It wasn’t even compulsion, not really, but Martin’s hips still bucked at the rasp in Jon’s voice. 

“I- _fuck_ ,” Martin managed, fingers moving faster over his folds. 

“ _Martin_ ,” came the reply, laced with the desire—no, the _need_ —to _know_ , to _see_. “Where do you want me?” 

This time the compulsion shuddered through him fully, words reaching his ears before the thoughts formed in his brain. It was impossible, but Martin could have sworn he felt Jon’s hands on his skin, pressing him against the bed. “Everywhere. I want your hands in my hair when I go down on you, pulling to tell me I’m doing a good job. I want them on my neck when you’re fucking me, hard enough to leave marks. I want them on my chest, pinching my nipples, holding me by my hips,” he paused to take a gasp of air, “and touching me, teasing me with light touches until I grind against you and you finally fuck me, putting two fingers in at once. You know I’m wet enough by now.” Without thinking, Martin slipped his own fingers inside. Like in his unfiltered thoughts, he had been wet for a while now, and they went in easily. A moan spilled out of him, interrupting his statement, and Martin could just barely hear Jon’s echoing sound through the static in his ears. 

He went on. “I want your fingers inside me, to fuck me until I can’t form words anymore, and the only thing I can think about is you." Martin’s fingers arched inside him, reaching ever deeper inside him, and he felt his legs begin to tremble on the bed. “And all it takes is one word from you, and I-” He cut off with a sharp gasp as his thumb brushed his clit. “Jon- please-” 

Jon came as close to a moan as Martin had ever heard from them, a guttural noise that felt like a rush of heat through Martin’s body. “God, Martin,” they gasped out. “Come.” 

The word hit Martin with the force of a lightning bolt, energy filling his body as the sound of rushing grew in his ears—whether it was the grate of static or the crash of ocean waves, he couldn’t say—and he felt his skin light up, heat surging through every part of him. Absently, Martin thought that his fingertips were numb, as the rest of his body overflowed with feeling. He heard Jon through the phone, cursing as they came from thousands of miles away. But the heat, the electricity between them, felt as though they were in the same room. 

Martin sat there for a moment, letting all the sensation come back to his body. He slowly pulled out his fingers and slid up his underwear. 

Jon spoke first. “I- um- was that-good? Too much? I’m sorry, I should have asked first, but I was just alone here, and thinking of you and-”

“Jon-” Martin cut in, laughing. “You don’t have to apologize for _being horny_. You’re allowed.”

“-Oh.” Jon paused. “Then- it was alright?”

“Yes,” they said. “That’s the hardest I’ve ever come by myself. Well, not technically _by myself_ , but you know what I mean. So yes, Jon, that was amazing and I love you.” 

Well. They hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. It wasn’t compulsion, just the heightened vulnerability between them. Martin knew he’d said as much to Jon before, but it felt different now they were, you know, dating. It still didn’t feel quite real to Martin, maybe due to the fact that everything else in his life was slowly becoming more and more unpredictable and removed from reality. He’d had to _live at his office_ for several months because of worms, hadn’t seen Jon for months after they were accused of _murdering an old man in their office_ and they’d been _kidnapped by killer clowns_. It made about just as much sense as Jon reciprocating Martin’s feelings and committing to a relationship with him. 

“I love you too,” Jon whispered. “I- I’ve wanted to say that for a while now, but I didn’t want to- I didn’t want to pressure you or anything, but, I do. I hate to say it for the first time when we’re thousands of miles apart, because I can’t see you, but I- I love you, Martin.”

Martin’s heart had either stopped or was beating two beats at once, he couldn’t tell. But here was Jon, famously bad with feelings, telling Martin how they felt in no uncertain terms. He just about melted into his pillow. “I wish you were here.” 

“I wish I were with you too. I’ll be home soon,” Jon said, voice breaking slightly on _home_. 

They laid like that for a moment, each resting their head by their phone and thinking, for once, the exact same thought, that of lying with each other, in perfect safety and contentment. 

“You should sleep,” Jon said, voice still low. 

“Yeah, I should,” Martin said. “I’ve got a long day of research ahead of me.” 

Jon laughed. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

Martin almost answered _you too_ , but couldn’t remember the last time Jon had slept for longer than two hours at a time. “I love you,” he responded instead.

“I love you,” Jon said. For once, their voice didn’t sound strained, or terrified, or full of existential dread. 

They sounded happy. 

***  
The past few weeks had been, broadly speaking, the most stressful of Martin’s life. Tied with the month following Leitner’s murder and Jon’s subsequent disappearance, of course, but that at least had a clear cause. Jon going radio silent from across the Atlantic was a bit more worrying, especially when they were in the process of stopping an apocalyptic ritual. Jon had called as soon as they’d been able, of course, and explained that while yes, the hunters had _technically_ kidnapped them, they were actually very nice and helpful and Jon had even spoken with Gertrude’s old assistant. 

That last part was a bit more unexpected, as Martin had assumed that Gerard Keay had been dead for several years, but stranger things had happened. Were happening. How many statements had Martin heard about the dead returning in one way or another? A corpse reanimating to explain the entities of fear to Jon was well within the realm of possibility.

Anyway, Jon assured him, it was fine, they were fine (if a little shaken), and they would be back in England the next day. Martin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so distracted at work, waiting on the edge of his seat until he could get back to his flat and wait for Jon to arrive. He still managed to help Melanie move some boxes of statements, find Basira another book on mannequins (she was more of a hostage than an employee, true, but _honestly_ , was Martin the only one in the Archives who knew how to navigate a library?), make a cup of tea for Tim to ignore as he stared absently at his computer, and avoid Elias as much as possible. 

He was just returning to his desk after adding supplemental materials to a file when his phone buzzed. It was Jon, letting Martin know they’d be at his apartment within the hour. 

Martin didn’t process the drive home, time dissolving in his mind like a pill in water. One moment he was in the Institute parking lot, the next he was in front of his apartment. He was up the stairs in a moment, unlocking his door and looking around absently to make sure it was adequately clean. Not that Jon would notice, but it was the principle of the thing. He busied himself, putting away clean dishes and tucking in the sheets on his bed. After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, a sharp knock sounded at the door. 

Martin bolted up from where he’d been sitting, hurrying to open the door. There was Jon, suitcase in hand, somehow looking years older than they had a few weeks before. They stepped inside and dropped their bag, wasting no time in wrapping their arms around Martin. Martin returned the hug, relishing in the feeling of their bodies pressed together. After weeks apart, filled with anxiety and stress, Martin nearly cried just from knowing Jon was in his arms.

They stood there holding each other until Martin remembered the front door was still open. He closed it and pulled Jon into the kitchen, pressing a cup of tea into their hands and a kiss on their cheek. Jon leaned into both, and Martin knew they hadn’t felt a friendly touch in far too long. The two of them curled up on the couch, resting against each other. It seemed like a luxury now, to simply breathe and feel each others’ warm presence. Well, Martin’s warm presence, at least—Jon was practically cold-blooded by now. 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Jon said, after they had sat like that for a while. “Well, it was pretty terrifying at first, but once I realized who they were-”

“Oh, not to worry, it’s just the daughter of notorious serial killer and avatar of the Hunt _Julia Montauk_ , absolutely nothing to worry about!” Martin cut in, half exasperated, half laughing. 

“ _Yes_ , but, better the devil you know, right? And meeting Gerry was very illuminating. I think you would’ve liked him. He was- well, I think he was _more_ when he was alive. He’s barely a shell of himself now, only able to tell me about the entities, but he seemed—kind.”

Martin nodded. “Have you destroyed his page yet?”

“No, I was waiting until I left America. Just in case. I suppose I’ll burn it tomorrow. I owe it to him.”

“Yeah,” Martin said thoughtfully. “How are you feeling, now?”

Jon tucked their head into the curve of Martin’s neck. “Better here. Being with you helps.” 

Martin leaned into them. “I’m glad. I wish you didn’t get kidnapped so much, but I guess it comes with the job title.”

“Seems like it,” Jon sighed. “How are you?”

“Fine. Tired. About as good as I can be, honestly, especially now you’re back.”

“Your- your voice,” Jon said. “Has it- gotten deeper?”

“Yes!” Martin said excitedly. “It’s wonderful.”

“It is,” Jon replied. “You sound- amazing.”

It was a testament to how much their relationship had grown, that they could both speak so plainly about their feelings without any supernatural help. It was a sign, too, that when Martin turned his head to look Jon in the eyes, they met his gaze and leaned in without hesitation. 

It had only been a few weeks, not long at all, in the grand scheme of things, but any day that passed without kissing Jon felt like an eternity. It was a feeling so familiar it could’ve become routine, but felt more like prayer. He cupped the back of Jon’s head, tangling in their hair and pulling them closer. _I missed you_ , he thought, loud enough that he hoped Jon could see it without trying. _I missed you so much._

They broke apart, Jon leaning their forehead against Martin’s. “I missed you too,” they said, smiling softly. “Are you too tired to-”

“Nope,” Martin interrupted. He pulled Jon in for a quick kiss before starting towards his bedroom. Jon followed, unable to keep their hands off Martin before he could reach the bed. They kissed him deeply, bodies fitting together in a practiced curve, Martin tilting his head up to meet Jon. Their hands cupped his face, threaded through his hair, settled on his neck. They were cold, of course, but Martin was more than happy to warm them up. As Jon’s hands ghosted over Martin’s chest, he remembered all too clearly exactly what he’d told Jon what he thought about their hands. The memory was just shy of embarrassing, but as Jon’s grip landed on his hips, Martin _really_ couldn’t find it within themself to care. 

They lost themselves in a tangle of clothes and limbs, Jon falling back onto the bed first, Martin landing between their legs. Most of their clothes lay discarded on the floor, leaving Jon in just a rumpled button-up and underwear. Martin took their time unbuttoning their shirt, pressing a kiss to their chest after each button. To his mild surprise, they were wearing a delicate-looking black bra underneath. Martin knew they tended not to wear such overtly feminine things, especially not while travelling. Everyone in the Archives had more important things to worry about than what the Archivist wore, but the outside world was much more critical. 

“I- in America, with the Hunters, I got- there was- blood, on a lot of my things, I had to buy clothes but there wasn’t much I could find. I knew it was risky but I was having a bad day, you know-”

“I know, Jon, it’s okay-”

“Nothing- no one said anything. And I thought-” their eyes darted to meet Martin’s- “I thought you might like it.”

Martin blushed. “I do,” he said. “You’re beautiful, in this, but no matter what you wear.” 

He felt heat gather in the pit of his stomach, the slightest bulge forming in his underwear. He slipped Jon’s shirt over their shoulders and kissed the side of their neck, trailing to the spot where it met the sharp bone of their shoulder. Martin brought his mouth back to Jon’s. Jon’s hands cupped his cheeks, moving to unbutton his shirt. Martin pulled it off quickly, unable to stop the pleased noise that escaped from his mouth when he felt Jon’s cool hands on his sides, his chest. They slipped down to Martin’s hips, then cupped him through his underwear. Martin let out another moan, hips rocking forward. 

“You’re- more, now,” Jon whispered, somewhere between surprised and pleased. “That’s- can I touch you?” Their voice was thick with something Martin couldn’t quite pin down, but it felt like arousal steeped in adoration, overwhelming in its sincerity. 

“I- yes,” Martin said. “I- do you-”

“Yes, Martin, I love you, and anything that makes you love yourself more is something I cherish.” 

_Fuck_. He really didn’t want to make a habit of crying when they had sex, but Jon always seemed to make him feel _so much all of the time_. He felt tears well in the corners of his eyes, and bent to kiss Jon. They noticed, of course they noticed, and held Martin’s face to wipe a tear from his eye. “Are you all right?”

“Yes- I’m- I love you, you always make me feel everything all at once, and I- this is how it comes out,” Martin said, kissing their cheek. “Can I- can I go down on you?”

“Please,” Jon whispered, like they still weren’t sure they were allowed to have needs. Martin reached to unhook their bra, then pressed a kiss to their breast, their nipple. He trailed kisses down their stomach, pausing to slide off their underwear. Martin took a moment to appreciate them from this view; vulnerable, needy, beautiful. He loved the sight of them together like this, both of them placing such trust in each other, to see everything that they each were and have it be loved unconditionally. It had taken both of them some time to allow this intense vulnerability between them, as slow and stuttering as everything at the beginning of their relationship. 

Jon sighed as Martin began touching them, moving his mouth lower to take them in fully. This didn’t always do much for them, due to some combination of hormones, budding eldritch powers, and their already-complicated relationship with sex. Today, it seemed that Jon was enjoying it quite a bit, their hand over their mouth as Martin bobbed his head. 

_Don’t_ , Martin thought loudly, as his mouth was rather occupied. _I want to hear you_. To illustrate his point, he reached up to pull Jon’s hand from their mouth and laced their fingers together. With his other hand, he held onto Jon’s hip. He pulled his head back until just the tip remained in his mouth. Jon let out a low moan, unable to hide their reaction. 

“Fuck, Martin,” they said, hand squeezing Martin’s own. The heat pooled in his stomach doubled in intensity, and he let out a quiet moan himself as he moved his head faster. Jon’s breathing came faster, one hand clenching the sheets, the other gripping Martin. With a shudder, they came in Martin’s mouth. Martin swallowed and laid down next to Jon. Their eyes opened, and they turned to kiss Martin’s forehead, then his mouth. 

“Thank you,” they said, pulling away to rest their forehead against Martin’s. 

Martin laughed softly. “You don’t have to say that _every_ time I go down on you, you know.”

“I just feel like I should,” they said, smile forming. 

“You’re very welcome, then,” Martin replied. 

Jon pulled Martin closer, hand reaching between them to cup Martin. “You seemed to enjoy it too.” They slid a slender finger through the wet spot in his underwear. 

Martin bucked his hips into the touch, too sensitive to help himself. “Ah- yeah, I do. I love making you feel good.” He stroked Jon’s face as they slid his underwear off. Martin kicked them off and Jon climbed on top of him. They kissed him, long and sweet, as their hand spread open Martin’s folds and two long fingers dipped inside him. He was wet, enough that Jon fingering him was making embarrassingly loud sounds in the quiet room. His moans quickly covered them up when Jon added a third finger. 

The first few times they’d done this, Jon had been hesitant to be as rough as Martin had wanted. Once Martin had convinced them that sometimes, it felt nice for things to hurt, their apprehension dissolved. Martin was very thankful for this, especially right now, as Jon pressed against his g-spot again and again. He let out the closest sound he could manage to Jon’s name. It came out as a whine.

Jon kissed him again. “I love you,” they said, voice buzzing with intensity. “You can come.”

Their thumb rubbed his clit. Sensitive and growing as it was, it only took a few more strokes for Martin to come hard, tightening around Jon’s fingers. Heat coursed through their body, overwhelming every other sensation. It took a moment for him to collect his thoughts and remember that he still had a body. 

Jon slid their fingers out of him, Martin opening his mouth almost instinctively. He didn’t especially love how he tasted, but cleaning his own mess off Jon’s fingers was delicious in its own way. 

“You’re so-” Jon whispered, “beautiful. Handsome. Wonderful.”

“I love you,” Martin said. Maybe he said it too much, but after years of keeping his feelings silent, it was nice to say it out loud. 

“I love you too. Shouldn’t you go-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Martin got up and went towards the bathroom, gathering their discarded clothes on his way. 

When he got back, Jon had already gotten under the covers, dressed in one of Martin’s soft t-shirts. Martin laughed to himself and joined them. They seemed more sleepy than tired now, and it didn’t take long for them to both drift off, holding each other in the closest approximation of safety they could manage. Whatever danger lurked outside this warm bubble could wait until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> gerry is a he/him lesbian now i dont make the rules i just love this greasy kid  
> *pats martin on the head* this bad boy can fit so much projection in him


End file.
